His Eyes
by TabbyCat33098
Summary: Harry meets Draco's gaze at Draco's trial. All of a sudden, Harry is whisked back into memories of looking into those same eyes over the years. He takes a journey through all of the shades in the span of a minute. Minor confusion, post-Hogwarts, non-yaoi.


A/N v.2: The Purge commences.

This was written on the Notepad on a 3 year old iPhone 3G in a hotel room in Colorado at 11:30 at night a couple months ago. This might be a tad confusing. This is the only story I have that has been "beta"d by more than a couple of friends. Like, I literally posted this in a forum I go to, and got people from all over the world to read it over for feedback. Plus, I emailed it to several friends, to see if it made sense. They all said it was okay, but if it's confusing, I'm sorry. As always, just drop me a PM or a review if you have a question, prompt, flame, commish, anything.

As always, reviews are not appreicated. Seriously, flamers are loved too. I will send you a giant hug for flaming my fic, no joke. I reply to all signed in reviewers, and anons with an account on FFN who tell me, in their review, what the name of their account is.

Standard disclaimer applies. (I'll probably just put that in my author bio, and be like, "This applies to all of my stories.") So yeah, enjoy His Eyes!

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><p><strong><span>His eyes<span>**

His eyes are a pale silver, a testament to how terrified he is. They shift ever so slightly, constantly, always undulating, reflecting his conflicting emotions, but they never swirl far away from the pale silver of absolute, indefinite fear. But no one notices the incongruity of his eyes with the mask he wears. He portrays the perfect picture of confident indifference, as though he already knows the result of the proceedings.

He has missed a searching pair of emerald eyes, though. He thinks he is safe behind his shield, but it is crumbling slightly under the strain of the past two years. He knows this, as he knows, or thinks he knows, that few will take the trouble to widen those minuscule cracks and tear his shield down.

And yet, those brilliant emerald eyes have already bypassed his defenses. Silently, they have slipped through the cracks like water, to examine his vulnerabilities at their own convenience. They see through his mask, peer into his eyes, see the truth written there, plain as day for all who care to see. They see his fear, know that he is trembling inside, feel his pain.

The jade green eyes look into the silver ones, absorb the terror the pale orbs radiate, attempt to infuse their own bright gaze with affection and comfort and soothing thoughts. And as the two gazes connect, invisible yet tangible sparks flying between them, the sharp jade is jerked back into old memories.

A bright, eager moonshine, accompanied by an outstretched hand and a hopeful yet smug smile. The immediate fall into darkened grey when the hand was rejected.

The sharp thrill of excitement coloring those eyes a sharp silver, lending them an infinite depth, as though staring into a deep deep pool. And the undercurrent of apprehension and adrenaline at the thought of being caught up in the air, flying without permission, taunting the grass green that opposed them.

The static anger that pulled a shade over those eyes, adding a black tone to the melting-ice grey. The pulsing jealousy they conveyed as they watched the owls drop the broom in front of the excited green.

The hood pulled over them as wand faced wand, spell faced spell, blocking the green from entering. The green orbs weren't quite adept at breaking through the shield yet; that wouldn't come for some time yet.

The wistful curiosity that faded his eyes to meltwater grey, almost clear, as he waxed eloquent about the Heir of Slytherin. The green, though green no longer, could almost glance right through, and maybe see the couch behind them, so clear they were.

The sparkling humor that tinged his eyes with sparkling flecks of pale, pale gold, nearly invisible from just a foot or two away. They sparkle as the grey taunt the green about dementors, and fainting on the train.

The determination that dropped shade over the silver, like window blinds, as they charged towards the hippogriff. Then the fear that flooded through the eyes, lightening them and dilating the pupils, as the hippogriff reared its mighty head and slashed down. The pain that bleached his eyes until they were clear grey, as odd as that sounds, with a ring of watery silver forming a circle around the pupils.

The amusement that flashed through them as he dropped from the tree, coloring his eyes a pale silver once more, but this time they danced with light as he smugly recounted the bet he had made with his father. The quick flash of surprise, visible only for a second before he was whisked into a ferret, that turned his eyes the grey of a small raincloud.

The small flash of hot white triumph that shine through his eyes every time he saw someone wearing one of those hideous badges he had created. The triumph that he was slowly bringing down the shield that surrounded those emerald eyes, so full of mystery themselves.

The pride that turned his eyes a bright ice grey, somehow happier than ice would seem to be, as he flaunted his prefect badge. The smug flecks of silver dotting the grey as they taunted the insecure green, asking why the green hadn't been chosen, and wasn't it because the grey was superior each time?

Once more, that pride, and yet, they shared the space with a dusting of watery gold, denoting a feeling of belonging as toadlike hands pinned the Squad badge onto his robes. The shimmering spheres rested at the top of a straight back, hands held loosely at his sides, pride radiating through his body.

A constant haze of taut pain that stretched his eyes wide all year, blurring into one long memory, always the same. A rim of bloodshot red surrounding the irises that seemed to mirror the emerald green, staring deep into the soul of anyone who dared to look too close. Overworked dull, ashy grey, as the strain took its toll.

Then that day, in the bathroom, where he nearly bled to death on the floor. The tears that dripped from shimmering, glistening silver that swirled like eddies of water in a whirlpool. The utter pain, the broken heart, expressed by the tears that were a rarity in and of themselves.

The pale, pale silver that the green only ever saw twice in his life: once now, holding Dumbledore's gaze, and once years in the future. The pain and fear that shone in his eyes as his hand trembled to keep the wand steady, to save his life.

Then an absence of over a year. Over a year away from this expressive eyes, that were as easy to read as an open book. But their gazes met again, in the silver pair's abode, as the silver refused to recognize the green. The forced uncertainty that wavered in his eyes, hiding the wide panic displayed in the faded silver.

And then everything was a blur. He thought he saw variations if the silver again, and again, and again, but the fear and panic and determination overshadowed the need to notice each different nuance of his expressions, as revealed through his eyes. More meltwater, more silver, more ice, yet no definitive differences were filed away. For all intents and purposes, the two gazes didn't connect again until today, the day of the trials, the day that maybe the silver eyes will shine yet another color: the color of freedom.

The emerald green gaze slowly brings the courtroom back into focus, centering once more on the pale silver gaze that now shines with curious flecks of gold. And then, the emerald makes a decision. They crinkle in support, and admit to the surprised meltwater silver that they saw all, throughout the years, that they knew all that the other man had felt, that they understood the silent thoughts those eyes portrayed, no matter how subtle. With one last smile, Harry tears his gaze away from Draco, leaving him to ponder the silent conversation they have just had.

**FIN**


End file.
